


Two

by syredronning



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of a kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two

**Author's Note:**

> For severinne who asked for Pike/MU Pike in a meme. Thanks to betalil for the beta!

His twin is behind bars, caged. The man with the same face, but distorted, mutilated, as if his inner soul had broken out of his skin to show the evil inside.

Sometimes, Pike isn't sure why he visits the man in the cage.

"You come to play chess with me, of course," the man says, his smile broken by the half-missing lips, but still with a dangerous undercurrent. "And you should call me Chris, we're the same man, after all."

Chris is a refugee, having saved his life by jumping into a parallel universe. Pike should pity him but the death of a dozen 'fleet members by the hands of Chris before they could catch him for good considerably reduces the pity.

"Jim would've killed me," Chris says, strangely proudly. "He's really the best, my breed."

"My Jim saved my life," Pike says.

"To live as a cripple." Chris tilts his head towards the antigrav chair. "There's something wrong with a universe in which the young don't give their mentors an honorable death."

"And still you wanted to escape instead of waiting for his knife."

What once might have been actual barbs between them have grown dull-edged and pointless over the last year. There's a killer in a cage and a good man in a wheelchair and neither of them is of any importance to either universe.

"Same time next month, Christopher?" Chris asks after the draw, twinkling with hanging lids, dark-red fleshy scars moving like disoriented snakes over his destroyed face. The chemical burns of Jim's assassination attempt have resisted even modern healing magic.

"Maybe," Pike says and takes his leaves.

They phone him a week later, and he knows what this is about the second he sees the number.

"We doubt he'll make it to you before we catch him, but we'll be sending a guard anyway," they say.

"No thanks," Pike says. When he shuts off the comm, Chris moves out of the shadows.

"Are you so eager to die?" he asks roughly.

Pike shrugs. "Are you?"

Their joined silence is a 'no'.

He still fights a little when Chris drags him into the bedroom and throws him onto the mattress.

"I know you want it, Christopher," Chris says with a crooked smile as he runs strong hands up Pike's useless legs. "How long since anyone fucked you?" He crouches up and catches Pike's hands, sniffs at his throat, licks along his jaw. "How long since anyone desired you like this?"

Some questions don't need an answer.

Pike shuts his eyes as Chris strips him. It's neither slow nor careful, there's no regard for his often hurting body. Chris strips him and positions him on his back and fists him open too fast and with nothing but spit. He should at least pretend he doesn't want it, for the sake of his own soul.

"Tell me that you want it too," Chris orders harshly and leans over Pike. Chris' face looks like eternally bleeding flesh, valleys of agony; Pike wonders why he'd never asked Chris about pain.

"I want it," Pike whispers. He wants the cock in his ass and the hand around his throat and he feels more alive than in the last two years. Maybe Chris will kill him after all and it only speaks of his sick mind that he can't muster any true emotions about the idea. Chris fucks him with an intensity that both burns something apart and mends something that's been broken.

"Steel, Christopher, we are like steel. Put us in the forge and hammer us and we'll return stronger than ever, a hundred thin layers folded like in a katana," Chris mutters while pushing especially deep.

Pike doesn't feel like steel, but Chris surely believes in the method.

 

Chris stays with him - maybe Pike should say Chris is holding him hostage, but he doesn't need any serious convincing to tell the visiting 'fleet police that all is well and they should leave him alone. Pike learns to deepthroat pretty fast, with one hand in his hair and the other slapping his face until he opens his mouth; Chris likes the sound of him choking. It's abuse but he's asking for it because it's a hell of a lot better than that soft-shelled pity shit everyone else is offering him.

The Starfleet troopers that take his house by storm three days later look really sexy in their uniforms.

"We'll get you to Starfleet Medical, sir," they say and stare at the dead body on the floor.

"Was that really necessary, Christopher?" Chris asks him in the twilight between dream and waking, his face smooth and fresh.

"You're an animal, but I couldn't let you get thrown back into the cage," Pike says.

"Sentimental fool." Chris waves. "See you in afterlife. I'll be waiting for you."

The vision dies. Pike looks out of the window. Afterlife? He'll try this one again first.


End file.
